Meng Yan's Transformation

Chapter 627 Borrowing a bicycle to go to the photo studio

A week passed in the blink of an eye.

On a summer weekend, the afternoon sun on campus, like melting amber, thickly spreads across every corner. Students who have finished lunch disperse in twos and threes, turning the tree-lined path in front of the teaching building into a bustling market. Dappled shadows fall, and cicadas chirp through the leaves, weaving a dense, impenetrable net. This mingles with the shouts from the basketball court and the hum of the convenience store's refrigerator, the air filled with the lingering aroma of food from the cafeteria and the warm, slightly intoxicating scent of sun-warmed grass.

Several male students rushed onto the playground with basketballs in hand, their T-shirts soaked with sweat, their footsteps kicking up a gust of hot air. The female students, however, preferred the cool shade of the library; some curled up on benches with books in hand, crumpled drafts from their afternoon naps tucked between the pages; others leaned against windowsills, their gazes drifting aimlessly across the gray walls of the distant dormitories. By the flowerbeds, several first-year students squatted, observing ants carrying food, their trouser legs covered in grass clippings, their laughter as crisp as marbles. In a corner of the senior year, someone always occupied a spot on the steps, exercise books spread out on their lap, pen nibs scratching across the paper, as if chasing a future blurred by the summer heat.

A breeze occasionally swept by, stirring the monthly exam rankings that hadn't been completely torn down on the bulletin board, and also dispersing a few wisps of youthful laziness and restlessness in the air.

Zhan Mengyan sat at her desk, a mountain of final exam review materials spread out in front of her. Sweat streamed down her forehead, soaking the mathematical formulas on the draft paper. The breeze blowing in through the classroom window barely dispelled the summer heat, but it couldn't dispel the anxiety in her heart—the exam date was approaching, and every minute felt precious.

Zhan Mengyan had just solved a complex math problem and was about to breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, her memories, like pages turned by a breeze, flipped to a scene from a week ago.

Zhan Mengyan suddenly remembered Zhan Yingying's instructions. Her sister's voice rang in her ears, carrying an undeniable reminder: "Remember to pick up the photos at the photo studio in a week. Don't lose the receipt."

Zhan Mengyan's hand froze in mid-air, the pen tip leaving a small ink dot on the paper. She looked up. Her gaze swept across the messy desk, and under a stack of exercise books, she caught a glimpse of a familiar color—the corner of a receipt, light blue and slightly wrinkled.

Zhan Mengyan stopped writing, gently rustling the paper. The date and address, blurred on the paper, now became clear—the promise from a week ago. Her fingers traced the edge of the paper, as if she could still feel the warmth of her sister's words. The sunlight outside was blinding, the cicadas' chirping intensified, but in this moment of pause, she felt a strange tranquility—the tension of studying was softened by a touch of warmth, her sister's words becoming an anchor in the summer's torrent. Zhan Mengyan carefully added the paper to the top page of her notebook, her movements gentle, as if handling a fragile treasure. She glanced at the clock on the blackboard; time continued to flow, the pressure of exams remained immense, but picking up the photo had become a brief interlude in the afternoon, reminding her that life was more than just formulas and exercises. The cicadas continued to chirp, the sunlight continued to shine. And her heart, stirred by this small discovery, had begun to stir.

Zhan Mengyan tidied her desk. Picking up the photo receipt, she walked out of the classroom, intending to borrow a bicycle from Zhang Xincheng or Zixun to ride to the photo studio.

Zhan Mengyan arrived at Zhang Xincheng and Zhan Zixun's classroom, her reflection shimmering in the glass window. Zhan Zixun's pen was working on the last major physics problem, his scratch paper piling up like a small hill. She glanced at Zhang Xincheng, who was also writing furiously.